


Feelings

by flaming_muse



Category: Glee
Genre: Episode Related, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-16
Updated: 2012-02-16
Packaged: 2017-10-31 07:11:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/341327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flaming_muse/pseuds/flaming_muse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blaine couldn’t <i>think</i> with the pills.  He just felt things.</p><p>set during 3x12 (“The Spanish Teacher”)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Feelings

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Deutsch available: [Feelings -- Gefühle](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10596132) by [Klaineship](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Klaineship/pseuds/Klaineship)



Even with only one lamp on and the world dark beyond his drawn curtains, Blaine’s room was too bright and twirling around him in lazy spins like a hockey player warming up on the ice, so it was with some relief that he shut the book he wasn’t supposed to be reading, turned the uninjured side of his face into his pillow, and closed his eyes when the opening bars to “Perfect” trilled on his phone.

He was already smiling by the time the phone got to his ear. He always was already smiling when Kurt called; he’d realized over the summer that he was living the Pavlov’s dog experiment, except what he got after the bell was his wonderful, handsome, fascinating, perfect boyfriend to talk to.

“Kurt,” he said happily.

“Hi, Blaine,” Kurt replied, his voice warm in Blaine’s ear. It wasn’t as good as having Kurt’s breath on his ear, like it would puff across his skin if he were actually there with him, but it still made his skin tingle. “How are you feeling?”

“Better now that I’m talking to you.”

“As nice as that is to hear, did you also take your pills today?”

“Yes,” Blaine said with a little sigh. The day before he’d tried to go without the pain medication because it was making him fuzzy-headed and unhappy, and a part of him thought he should be able to handle his recovery from the surgery without it. He shouldn’t need them. After all, humans had survived for thousands upon thousands of years without painkillers. Even now his grandfather was proud of not using Novocaine when he had dental work. Unfortunately after a couple of hours Blaine’s head had felt so achy and awful he’d wanted to throw up, and Kurt had had to leave early because Blaine could barely carry on a conversation and was good for nothing but lying silently in the dark. “I learned my lesson.”

“I should hope so.” Kurt’s voice grew softer and more worried. “I still don’t know what possessed you.”

Blaine squirmed into a more comfortable position on his side. “I told you; I don’t like how they make me feel.”

“Better? Not in pain?” Kurt suggested.

“Sad,” Blaine replied before he thought about it, and that was part of the problem, too. He couldn’t _think_ with the pills. He just felt things. Like how much he was missing spending time with Kurt during the day or after school getting coffee or in the back seat of Kurt’s car, all of which he’d almost blurted out to his mother the night before when she came in to say goodnight because all he could think about once the medicine was working was how much he wanted to be okay again so he could sit across the table from his boyfriend at Breadstix and serenade him on his front porch instead of having to send him home so Kurt wouldn’t be there to be disgusted by him vomiting from the pain.

Blaine pressed his face into the pillow. He was a giant blob of stupid medication-induced feelings. With an eyepatch. It probably wasn’t even a rakish eyepatch; he was pretty sure Kurt had just been saying that to make him feel better.

“Sad?” Kurt asked. “Why are you sad? You always seem happy, or at least okay, when I see you.”

“Well, _you’re_ there. So I am.”

“Oh.” Kurt sounded taken aback, but Blaine could hear the smile in his voice when he continued. “Then I wish even more that I could be there right now.”

“If I had the choice, I’d rather be there; I’m so tired of my room.” Blaine breathed in deeply and tried to find a trace of the scent of Kurt’s hair product or aftershave from yesterday so that he could pretend he was curled up on Kurt’s soft bed instead, Kurt lying just next to him, his fingers about to drift through Blaine’s hair and his lips hovering above his cheek.

“Even _I’m_ getting tired of your room, and I never thought I’d say that. But then our options in it are very limited at the moment, as much as I enjoy reading to you.”

“Oh, Kurt, don’t talk to me about other options,” Blaine said into his pillow as a vision of Kurt’s pale skin against his sheets flashed to the front of his mind. “Not when I can’t even hold your hand right now.”

“I’ll come over tomorrow if you’re well enough,” Kurt promised.

“I will be,” Blaine promised right back. “It’s not like watching daytime TV is that tiring; there aren’t even that many soaps on anymore to try to follow. Those doctor talk shows are scary but don’t need so much of my attention.”

Kurt let out a huff of a laugh. “You’re watching medical talk shows? You really must be bored.”

“You have no idea,” Blaine said. “So tell me about your day. No detail is too small if it’s about anything outside of my house.”

“Well, I got an A- on my history assignment,” Kurt told him. There was a rustling on his end like he was getting comfortable on his bed; Blaine wondered if he were still in his school clothes or if he’d changed into his pajamas. It was early enough that he was probably still dressed, but Blaine pictured him in those silky pajamas, anyway, because then they almost matched. “And there was a food fight in the cafeteria again at lunch. I think the hockey players started it out of protest for them running out of pizza. Either that or they were bored. My tray-shielding abilities are improving, though; I didn’t get a scrap on me today.”

“That’s good.” Blaine kind of liked food fights, though, and he was sorry to have missed it. He’d figured out a great way to sling jell-o across the room without getting his hands dirty. It was all about taking an extra soup spoon even when he wasn’t having soup. It was important to be prepared.

“You missed an exciting afternoon in Glee, too. Mr. Martinez was back.” Kurt let out a breathy sigh with which Blaine was - literally - intimately familiar.

“He was? The hot night class teacher?”

“‘Hot’ isn’t sufficient to describe him, but yes. He sang with Santana. You should have seen him. You should have seen him dance. You should have seen his _arms_ , Blaine.”

Blaine cracked open his eye and looked at his own arm. He flexed a little. Maybe he should get some bigger weights, box a little more regularly. He had some solid muscle there, sure, just obviously not enough. But first he had to heal up; he wasn’t allowed to exert himself at all, according to the doctor. So his already underdeveloped arms were going to atrophy, and he’d be even more of a disappointment to Kurt.

“I should have taken a picture,” Kurt said. “Or a video. It’s not fair that you aren’t going to get to see him. Finally some eye candy for us in this dreary school, and you’re missing it.”

“I’m more sorry I didn’t get to see you dance in those boots the other day. I like watching you dance.” It was almost as good as dancing _with_ him, although there was something wonderful about just getting to watch Kurt move and admiring the rhythm and strength of his body.

“Mmm. It did take a surprising amount of agility,” Kurt agreed. “Meanwhile, Rachel is obsessing over her NYADA finalist song selection, which is infinitely better than her obsessing over this insane engagement, which she also is doing, but if she texts me one more time while I’m in English Mrs. Russell is going to take my phone away.”

“Don’t you have it on silent?”

“Yes, but she has the ears of a bat; she can hear it vibrate in my pocket.”

“Put it in your bag, then.”

“I don’t want to miss a text from you,” Kurt said so blithely that it was like it was not one of the sweetest things he could do, making himself available at all times while Blaine was stuck at home in a pointless, stifling bubble of discomfort, drugs, and daytime talk shows, and he continued on without pausing. “Besides, Mercedes is still having boy drama, and she may need a Sam-tervention at a moment’s notice. Or a Shane-tervention, depending on the hour.”

“I still think I need some sort of chart to keep all of these relationships straight,” Blaine muttered; it wasn’t the first time he’d asked for one, but it was getting extra confusing. He wasn’t sure that was entirely from the medication, actually.

“I had lunch with her today - before the food fight - and she wouldn’t talk about it, but Tina thinks Mercedes is afraid of getting hurt again, which is why she’s being so resistant to talking about it with us. Mike says hi, by the way.”

Kurt didn’t let Blaine answer before he leaped into the next thought, his voice rising and the words tumbling out with excitement. “Oh, speaking of Mike, I didn’t even _tell_ you about Mr. Schuester’s bull-fighting number! He - “

Usually Blaine loved listening to Kurt talk, especially when he was so passionate that he could barely contain himself, but as Kurt’s words spilled over him something sharp and twisting bloomed in Blaine’s chest and stole his breath with the thorny pain of it. “This is what it’s going to be like when you’re in New York,” he said abruptly, so shocked by the idea that he opened his eyes and rolled onto his back. It was going to be just like this.

“Watching my choir leader prance around in a matador costume while making a mockery of his two best dancers? God, I hope not.”

“No, I mean you doing all this fun, interesting stuff and me sitting here listening to it.” Blaine could picture it: Kurt being wrapped up with and excited about new people and new experiences while Blaine was sitting at home with just his four walls and loneliness and his boyfriend too far away to touch. He felt like he was suffocating in his own room; he inhaled shakily, trying to get enough oxygen.

Kurt fell quiet on the other end of the line, and Blaine hated himself for saying anything at all. He should have just listened and drunk in what he could get of Kurt to get him through the night and the day tomorrow. There was only so much someone winning both final showcases on _The Price is Right_ could do to lift his spirits.

“I’m - “ he started to apologize, but Kurt cut him off.

“Why do you think I’m going to be the only one doing interesting things?” he asked with a gentle concern.

“You’re going to be in New York.”

“Yes, obviously _I_ will be having an amazing time if I’m there, but even though you’ll still be at the backwater of McKinley you’re going to be a senior and the lead male soloist of Glee club. I’m going to be fighting for every part and having to do my laundry in communal machines - “ The disgust in his voice rang clear. “ - and _you’re_ going to be charming your way into free biscotti at the Lima Bean and having to remind Mr. Schue to let Rory get one of your lines from time to time. Possibly even a song of his own.”

“We should be doing that now,” Blaine said. Rory was nice. And he had a good voice. It wasn’t fair that he kept getting stuck in the back. Finn couldn’t dance, either, and he still got to sing.

Kurt made a noise that wasn’t quite agreement. “My point is that you will be running New Directions and singing Michael Jackson and bubblegum pop with Artie as much as you want. And probably making up strange new choreography that will involve leaping onto his chair and landing you back on painkillers.”

“I’ll have you know I have excellent balance. And that time I fell he’d forgotten to put on his hand brakes.”

“We’re drifting off of the topic.”

“You’re the one who brought up choreography,” Blaine pointed out.

“And for that I apologize,” Kurt said with an edge of sharpness to his voice. “I’m _trying_ to make you feel better.”

Blaine rewound over the past few seconds and was reminded of what life was going to be like when Kurt was in New York. Kurt, who was already more interesting than anyone else he knew was going to be doing even more amazing things than he already was. It was wonderful for him, but all Blaine would be able to do was listen. "You already know everything about New Directions. It's not going to compare."

"But it's what you'll be doing every day."

"I know," Blaine said sadly. He picked at the edge of his throw. The same throw he’d have next year, while Kurt had a new, exciting New York throw.

"No, I mean that I'll want to know because it's you, Blaine."

"Really?"

"Yes," Kurt said very patiently, and Blaine appreciated that because he knew Kurt wasn't patient with just anyone. It sounded so simple when Kurt put it like that. Simple and kind of ridiculously nice, actually. “In fact, you could text me detailed descriptions of your breakfast selection or bow tie each day, and I'd find it interesting." He made a thoughtful little noise. "Actually, I'd like that. Knowing what you're wearing. The whole ensemble, not just the tie."

"I can do that,” Blaine said. Inspiration struck him in a flash of brilliance from on high. “I could send you a picture. My phone has a camera!"

Kurt laughed, though Blaine didn't know why; it _did_ have a camera in it. “That would be even better.”

Blaine thought about how it would feel to take a picture of himself in his full-length mirror each morning, making sure everything about his outfit was perfect for the camera the same way he did when he was going to see Kurt in person. He thought about getting the angle of the shot just right, the pose, the smile. He could put together a horrible combination every once in a while just to make Kurt laugh. Maybe he could be holding a flower on their anniversary, one of the same kind he’d send to Kurt’s apartment.

The prickliness in his chest faded, and he found himself smiling at his spinning ceiling. It would make him feel like they were still connected, like he was still dressing to please Kurt as well as himself, even if they were hundreds of miles apart. And if Kurt did the same in return, and Blaine wasn’t just imagining him in fabulous clothes that he never got to admire but so many other interesting people in New York did...

“Will you send me a picture of your outfits, too?” he asked. “So I can see?”

“If you’d like,” Kurt said, and he sounded almost shy, which Blaine didn’t understand. Kurt was never shy about clothes. “I don’t think a single picture can capture every detail, but I will do my best. It will be a challenge.”

“You can always send more than one. I won’t mind,” Blaine assured him.

Kurt laughed again.

“What? I won’t.”

“I know, Blaine. I just don’t think when most teenage couples talk about texting each other pictures they mean it quite like this.”

Blaine’s face went hot, and he had to swallow his heart back into his chest at the idea of _other_ kinds of pictures they could send. He cleared his throat; this wasn’t the time for him to think about that. Instead he focused on what was important. “Since when are we most couples?”

Kurt’s voice was soft, fond, and delighted when he replied, “You make an excellent point.”

Closing his eyes again at the surge of longing he felt at the warmth of Kurt’s tone, Blaine twisted his fingers into his blanket and tried to pretend Kurt was just inches away instead of across town. He tried to pretend if he reached out he could hold Kurt’s hand in his own. He tried to pretend he wasn’t going to feel like this all of next year, even with the pictures. He tried to pretend it was just the medication making him so sad. “I wish you were here.”

“Tomorrow,” Kurt told him.

“Okay,” Blaine said, because it wasn’t like he could say anything else. “I’ll be here.”

“Yes, but not for too much longer.”

Blaine nodded, turning his face back into his pillow. “I know.”

“I’ll pick up some coffee and a cookie for you when I stop for some new magazines,” Kurt said. “And if you ask very nicely, I’ll even bring the boots.”

“But will you dance in them?”

“We’ll see,” Kurt said, and the smile in his voice made Blaine smile, too. He only had to hold on until tomorrow. It wasn’t that long, not really.

Though it was still early, Blaine shut off his light after they finally hung up. His head hurt, and he just wanted to sleep. He wasn’t sure he could, but he’d try. It sounded better than struggling to read or staring at his walls some more.

A few minutes later his phone vibrated on his nightstand, and when he rolled over and thumbed it on he found a picture of Kurt, still fully dressed and gorgeous as ever, perched on his own bed smiling at him.

It wasn’t the same as having him there, not anywhere close, but it still made Blaine’s heart leap.

And because he knew Kurt loved him, he flicked on his lamp and took a picture of himself, eyepatch, mussed hair, rumpled pajamas, scruffy face, and all.

Kurt’s reply was a simple _< 3_.

And then a minute later: _Your skin is going to need the intense moisturizer (the one in the white jar) tomorrow after you shave. And be sure your razor has a sharp new blade to deal with the couple of days of growth._

 _I love you, too,_ Blaine texted back, and when he curled up beneath his covers and let out the tension in his body with a long, slow breath he found it was easy to fall asleep after all.


End file.
